


Triple Dog Dare

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Spoilers for "Hell House." Who said the pranks had to end there?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Triple Dog Dare

**Title** \- Triple Dog Dare  
**Pairing** \- Sam/Dean  
**Rating** \- NC17  
**Size** \- 4700 words  
**Spoilers** \- Hell House  
  
  
  
  
  
_**Triple Dog Dare**_  
  
  
Dean dug out his Blue Oyster Cult tape the minute they left Richardson.  
  
“Dude. You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Sam rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He should have known this was going to happen. Sam didn’t know a person alive whose taste in music was a bad as Deans.  
  
“Bite me.” Dean looked over his shoulder as he backed up. He spun the wheel, pointed the car toward the highway, and fast-forwarded the tape until it stopped at _Don’t Fear the Reaper_. “This is a classic.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and leaned his head back on the seat. Dean turned up the volume. Sam reached out and turned it back down. Dean smacked him on the side of the head, turned it back up, and banged his hands on the steering wheel in time to the music.   
  
“Loser,” Sam muttered.   
  
Dean just laughed. “And you’re stuck with me. So shut the hell up, Sam. I’m driving.”   
  
*  
  
Sam didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up with another goddamned spoon in his mouth. He shot up in his seat, flapped his hands and the spoon fell into his lap. Next to him Dean slapped the steering wheel and laughed so hard he nearly drove them off the side of the road.   
  
“Man,” Dean said, gasping for breath. “That is _never_ not funny.”  
  
“You’re an asshole,” Sam said, pointing at Dean with the spoon. “And you’re twelve. Grow the fuck up.”  
  
“Oh, poor Sam.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair. Sam reached up and slapped Dean’s hand away, just making him laugh harder. “What’s the matter? Are you gonna cwy, Sammy?”  
  
Sam was going to kill him. Seriously. This wasn’t even funny anymore. “I thought we called a truce.”  
  
Dean nodded seriously. “We did.” He slanted Sam a look and pointed at the odometer. “A hundred and two miles ago. Dude. You’re lucky I let you sleep as long as I did.”  
  
“Lucky. Sure.” Sam folded his arms across his chest and stared out the window. Sometimes he really hated his brother. “You’re a total fucking jerk.”  
  
Dean cuffed him on the chin. Sam jerked his head away and wound up banging it against the window. When Dean laughed again Sam honestly thought about reaching across the front seat and strangling him. “I hate to tell you, Sam,” Dean said seriously. “But that’s not news.”   
  
*  
  
Twenty minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of a small gas station with a convenience store attached. “We have to get gas and a new map,” Dean said, angling the car next to a pump.   
  
“I’ll go grab one,” Sam said. He opened the door and got out, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his back. No matter how big the Impala was Sam’s legs were too long for pretty much any car. “I gotta take a leak too.”  
  
“Get me some chips when you’re in there,” Dean called. Sam waved a hand over his head and kept walking.   
  
The men’s room was just as dirty and disgusting as every men’s room on the side of every highway they’d ever stopped at. Sam pissed, tried not to touch anything other than his own dick, and washed his hands with the hottest water he could stand.   
  
Inside he grabbed a few local maps, two bags of chips and two bottles of soda. He smiled at the girl behind the counter, took care of his change and all of a sudden, he had a plan.   
  
Sam smiled to himself. His brother was a dead man.   
  
By the time he got back outside Dean was leaning against the side of the car with his arms folded over his chest. “Took you long enough,” he complained. “You doing anything else in there I should know about ? Find some girl and maybe, you know…” Dean trailed off and wiggled his eyebrows.  
  
“Yeah, Dean. That’s exactly what I was doing.” Sam rolled his eyes. “In the three minutes I was gone I picked someone up and fucked them in the men’s room.”  
  
Dean’s lips curved in a slow smirk. “You dog, Sammy.”  
  
“You’re an idiot,” Sam told him, handing over a bag of chips and a bottle of soda.   
  
Dean reached out, stopped, then pulled his hand back. “Oh, no no no. Wait just a minute.” He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Sam, really. Did you honestly think I was gonna fall for that? Really?”  
  
Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He hadn’t had this much fun in years. “What?”  
  
“The _soda,_ you ass.” Dean punched his arm. “Like you didn’t shake it to shit after you paid for it.”  
  
“Dude. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Dean. I’m serious.” Sam held the bottle in the air. “I didn’t shake it.”  
  
“Uh huh. Sure.” Dean snapped his fingers. “I’ve got an idea then.”  
  
Sam sighed. “This is the most annoying conversation in the world. What, Dean? What’s your idea.”  
  
“ _You_ open it,” Dean said smugly. “I mean, since you didn’t shake it,” he added.   
  
“Fine. Will that make you happy?” Sam tried his best to look disgusted. What, Dean didn’t trust _him?_ Who exactly was the one who _started_ this all? He twisted the cap off the bottle of soda, smirking at Dean’s confused look when nothing happened. “Here, you big baby. Perfectly normal.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat. “Right. Well. Thanks.” He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig before rearing back and spitting everything he had in his mouth onto the ground.  
  
Sam laughed so hard he nearly broke a rib.   
  
“ _Perfectly normal,_ Dean,” Sam sputtered. “You know. If you like your Coke with eight packs of salt in it.”  
  
“Fuck you.” Dean spit on the ground and shot Sam a glare that could possibly kill a man. “Oh. You’re fucking _dead_.”  
  
Sam lifted a finger in the air. “One point,” he cackled.   
  
Dean flipped him the bird. “That’s it,” he warned. “I’m not kidding, Sammy. _Dead_.”  
  
Sam got in the car and took a long swallow of his own, perfectly normal soda. Dean was still outside cursing and spitting.   
  
*  
  
They found a motel just about twenty miles west of the gas station. By the time they checked in and got to their room, Sam had finally stopped laughing. Dean had chewed almost an entire pack of gum since the soda incident, and when he unlocked the door Dean dumped his bags on the bed, dug out his toothbrush, and went straight for the bathroom.   
  
Sam couldn’t help it. He cracked up. Again.  
  
“I hate you so much.” Dean’s voice was garbled between the tooth brushing and the door half-closed between them, but Sam could still hear what he was saying. He flopped back on the bed, threw his arms out, and grinned up at the ceiling.   
  
“Liar,” Sam called.  
  
The water shut off and Dean came out. He walked across the room. Kicked Sam’s boot and then stepped on his foot.   
  
It was already getting dark. Sam could see the streetlamps flicking on outside the motel. Their window faced the highway, and every few minutes the headlights of a car or truck would flash through the room. Dean snapped the curtains shut and flopped down on the other bed.   
  
“Food,” he said. Sam twisted his head to the side to look at him. “I’m starving, dude.”  
  
“God, me too.” Sam stood up and stretched. “Lemme change my shirt and we’ll head out.”  
  
Dean shrugged and grabbed the remote. The TV had crappy reception and only about three working channels from what Sam could see. Awesome.   
  
He hauled his bag up from the floor and dropped it on the bed. Christ, he smelled rank. Anytime Sam could actually smell _himself_ that couldn’t be good.   
  
“I’m actually gonna shower, I think.” Sam yanked on the zipper of his bag. It was stuck in the corner. Sam couldn’t get it to open. He tugged harder and asked, “Did you find out about any food places around here?”  
  
“Girl at the desk said there’s a diner about two miles further west.” Dean stopped flipping when he got to a basketball game. Sam couldn’t even see what teams were playing through the snow on the screen. He yanked on the zipper again, because the goddamned thing was—  
  
Mother _fucker_.   
  
“Dude.” He punched a fist into the duffel and lifted his head. Dean was doubled over laughing his fool head off. “Did you glue my fucking _bag_ shut?”  
  
Dean slapped his leg and wheezed he was laughing so hard. He whipped out a tube of glue - _Sam’s_ tube of glue – and held it in the air.   
  
“Rule number one to playing a good prank, Sammy,” he said happily. “Never lose track of your props.”  
  
*  
  
The diner was loud and busy. The whole area was right off a main highway, nothing but motels, bars, diners and rest stops for miles. The only women in the place were the waitresses, though Sam had seen a few of them up close on his way to the men’s room before and now he wasn’t completely sure that they _were_ all women.  
  
“Man. I am _starving,_ ” Dean said for what had to be the fiftieth time since they sat down. “When the hell was the last time we ate?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “No idea. Two states ago, maybe?”  
  
“Fucking feels like it,” Dean agreed.  
  
The smell of burgers and fries wafted through the air and Sam’s stomach rumbled. He looked at Dean and saw him lick his lips. Sam dropped his eyes. At least Sam had a good meal coming. His brother might _actually_ kill him after this.   
  
Sam saw their waitress walking up behind Dean with plates in her hands and he had to look away to keep from laughing. She stood next to the table and put their food down. Cheeseburger deluxe for him. Cottage cheese and a green salad for Dean.  
  
Dean’s face went white. The waitress smiled and went to walk away when his hand shot out and almost grabbed her wrist. “Wait. Uh. I mean. Excuse me,” he added when she glared at him.   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I just.” Dean’s lip curled as he stared at his plate. “I didn’t order this.”  
  
“Oh,” she checked her pad. “Sure you did, sugar.”  
  
Dean’s face went tight and pinched. “No. I really didn’t.”  
  
“Well, I mean,” she tapped her pen against the pad and snapped her gum. Sam coughed behind his hand. Well. Laughed was really more like it, but it kind of sounded like a cough. “You _did_ order a cheeseburger, but then you changed it.”  
  
Dean blinked at her. “ _I_ changed it?” He turned to stare at Sam. Sam picked a french fry off his own plate and ate it with a smile.   
  
“Well.” The waitress faltered, shooting glances between the both of them. She must have realized that she somehow got in the middle of something but had no idea what. “I mean, _he_ said you wanted to change it,” she finished, jerking a thumb at Sam.   
  
Sam wiggled his fingers at Dean in a wave.   
  
“Oh, he did?” Dean’s voice was quieter than Sam had ever heard it. Sam tried to tell himself that really, he was the only family Dean had around. So. He wouldn’t _actually_ kill him. At least Sam didn’t think so. “Well. I do apologize for this,” Dean said, turning back to the waitress and trying to smile. “But can I maybe change it back?”  
  
“Uhm. Yeah. Sure.” She grabbed the salad from the table and took a step back. Dean was actually scaring her, Sam thought. “Just a few minutes, okay?”  
  
She hurried off, apron strings flying out behind her. Sam lifted his burger and took a huge bite. Grease dripped down his chin and he closed his eyes and sighed happily.   
  
“You’re fucking dead,” Dean said, his voice still in that scary, soft place.   
  
Sam grabbed another fry and stuffed it in his already full mouth. “Yeah,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. “But at least I’ll be full.”  
  
*  
  
The local bar was walking distance from the motel, so after they finished eating (it only took an extra ten minutes for Dean to wait for his burger, so Sam really didn’t know what the big deal was) they dropped the car off and wandered out for a few drinks.   
  
There was a jukebox in the corner and someone must have already been there with a tenspot and an itching to hear every Doors song ever recorded, because this was the fifth one in a row and Sam was just about to go a little crazy.   
  
“Have they ever heard of anything recorded in the last twenty years around here?” he complained.   
  
They were sitting at a high table in the corner opposite the jukebox. It was as far as they could get from the speakers, plus had the added bonus of being closer to the dartboards. Dean rolled a set of darts in the palm of his hand and took a long pull from his beer. “These people have taste, Sammy. Unlike you.”  
  
Sam laughed quietly and sipped his drink. He hadn’t really planned on getting drunk tonight, but the beers were ice-cold and going down easy, and for once, Sam decided not to think too much about it.   
  
He leaned back in his chair and watched as Dean idly threw some darts. Looked around the bar, watching people talk and laugh and flirt with each other. There was a group of guys playing pool in the middle of the room. A small group of girls sitting at the bar itself, and one of them, a pretty blonde, had been giving him looks for the past hour or so. Sam could go over there and talk to her, maybe try and kill some time, but. It just seemed like too much. Too much effort, too much energy. Sam wanted to relax and not worry or think about anything for a while.   
  
Dean finished with the darts and walked over to stand at Sam’s side. His right shoulder pressed against Sam’s left, and when Sam turned his head to look at him he saw Dean staring over his shoulder at the girls at the bar.   
  
“Hey, Sammy. You wanna?”  
  
Sam shook his head. The waitress came to the table and dropped off two beers, sliding Sam’s in front of him when Dean pointed. “Nah. I think I’m good to just hang tonight.”  
  
Dean shrugged and lifted his new beer to his lips. “Your loss, dude.”  
  
Sam shrugged. He finished his beer and picked up the new one. “I’m just – I don’t know. Too tired or something, I guess.” Dean was nodding seriously. Almost _too_ seriously, Sam realized, but the realization came about three seconds too late. Right after he took a long swallow of his beer and nearly spit it back out along with everything else in his stomach.   
  
“Oh _fuck,_ you fucking asshole.” Sam’s eyes watered and he felt his stomach twist. “What the hell did you—“  
  
“It’s so weird, Sammy.” Dean slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “You know, when I told the bartender you liked tabasco in your beer? He’d _never_ heard of that. Weird, huh?”  
  
“I hate you,” Sam sputtered. He wiped a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath. He was not going to get sick in the middle of the bar. He just wasn’t. “I hate you so much.”  
  
Dean just squeezed his shoulders tighter. “Never fuck with a man’s food, little brother,” he said soft against Sam’s ear. “Because you will _pay_.”  
  
*  
  
By the time they got back to the motel they’d pretty much drunk themselves sober.   
  
“Too much food before we tried to drink, man,” Sam told Dean as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.   
  
“Don’t bring up dinner around me for a very long time,” Dean warned.   
  
Sam smacked him on the side of the head. “Big baby.”  
  
Dean shoved him, and even though Sam knew he should have been expecting it, it still caught him off guard and he stumbled halfway across the room. He laughed sharply and spun around. “Oh, that is _it_.” Sam yanked his jacket off and ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, Dean. You still think you can take me?”  
  
“Oh, please, Sammy. Haven’t I kicked your ass enough times in our lives?” But he was smiling as he said it, pulling his jacket off and rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows.   
  
“That was a long time ago, Dean.” Sam wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He could feel his whole body vibrating with energy. His blood was humming in his veins and he felt twitchy and restless. They hadn’t gone at it in years. Not since before he left for college, if Sam really thought about it, and Sam was dying to just let loose for once. “A really long time ago.”  
  
Dean’s nod was so quick, so short, that if Sam didn’t know him as well as he did he might have missed it entirely. But he did know Dean, and that was him telling Sam to bring it on, so Sam lunged forward, hooked his foot around the back of Dean’s ankle, and yanked.   
  
They were on each other in seconds. Dean fell forward when Sam pulled him, but instead of resisting Dean leaned all his weight into it, sending them both to the floor. Sam’s head cracked back against the cement. The rug was thin and had practically to no padding under it. Sam felt his eyes roll around in his head and had to blink a few times to get his vision back from going blurry.   
  
“Dude. You okay?”  
  
Sam cut Dean off by shoving him up and over onto his back. Dean’s hands were curled tight on Sam’s shoulders and he was shoving hard, trying to push Sam up and off, but Sam just laughed, blew the hair from his eyes and pushed down harder.   
  
“Say uncle,” Sam taunted.   
  
“Blow me,” Dean said.  
  
Sam laughed again. Dean shoved a knee up between his legs and Sam pushed off and rolled halfway across the room. He was breathing hard; sweat was dripping down his back, under his shirt. Dean just sat there, staring at him, and Sam backed up more, around the edge of the bed, between the dresser and closer to the wall. “What?” Sam asked. “Scared?’  
  
Dean was at him like a shot and even though it’d been so long, four years away didn’t wipe out eighteen years of training. Sam knew every move Dean was going to make a split second before he made it. Dean knew that, though, and tried to surprise him anyway.   
  
Sam shoved at Dean’s chest and sent him onto his back again. They were pressed between the wall and the edge of one of the beds. It was darker without the light nearby, and Sam settled his weight against Dean’s thigh, holding him in place.   
  
His heart was racing in his chest, and Sam couldn’t remember another time he’d laughed so hard. Dean was looking up at him, his breath coming fast, his face open and happy. Sam didn’t even think about it as he leaned down and kissed him.   
  
Dean’s mouth was warm and wet. His lips were parted on a breath so Sam wound up getting more mouth then he planned on (not that he planned on any of this, but he really didn’t plan on _that_.) The kiss was fast, quick and weird. It was also over before Sam even really realized what was happening.   
  
“Dude,” Dean said, putting a hand flat against Sam’s chest. Sam expected a push, but instead Dean just left his hand there. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
“I.” Sam let out a breath. His eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth. When he realized what he was looking at he quickly looked back up. “I have no idea.”  
  
“Another prank, Sammy?” Dean smirked. “I gotta say, you’re going pretty far to win this fucking thing if—“  
  
Sam looked down again. Watched Dean’s mouth move and suddenly Sam didn’t feel like hearing him talk anymore at all.   
  
So he leaned down and kissed him again.  
  
This time though, Sam took his time. Dean’s hand stayed where it was on Sam’s chest. He could feel fingers curl into his shirt as he licked across Dean’s mouth, biting softly at his bottom lip. Sam didn’t know what was going on. Why he was thinking this or doing this or feeling like this, but as he slowly slid his thigh between his brother’s legs and angled his head just slightly more to the right - just a little bit over to be able to kiss him better - something because abundantly clear.  
  
Sam hadn’t gotten laid in a _hell_ of a long time.   
  
Dean’s chest was rising and falling quickly under his. Sam crawled over him more, reached down and found Dean’s hand lying curled in a fist on the rug. He wrapped his fingers around Dean’s and squeezed.   
  
“Sam.” Dean twisted his head away and sucked in a breath. “Sam. What the hell—“  
  
And the thing was, Sam honestly had no idea where this was coming from. It sure as hell wasn’t anything he thought about before. The thought had honestly never even crossed his mind.   
  
But. They were here now, and however it happened, they were here now like _this_. Sam figured he could back off and they could try and forget any of this ever happened. They could probably pull that off easily. Nothing _too_ weird had actually happened yet.  
  
Or. _Or_ he could push it. Push _this_ and see what would happen. Sam had his head worked around it pretty well, as fucked up as it might seem on the surface, and for once he just decided, _Fuck it. Let’s just see._  
  
“Well. You’re always the one saying I never get laid, Dean,” Sam finally answered. He tried to make his voice sound teasing, but he was pretty sure all he managed was turned-on.  
  
“I don’t know if _this_ is what I was talking about.” Dean’s voice was shaky as Sam shoved his thigh up pressing harder between Dean’s legs. He could feel how hard Dean was where he was pressed up against Sam’s belly. He watched as his brother bit his lip, breathing out a curse as Sam moved his hand to cup Dean through his jeans. “Jesus Christ, Sam.”  
  
Sam squeezed his hand harder, felt Dean’s cock press against his hand. Dean twisted his head to the side, his breath coming out rough and broken, and Sam pushed down, leaning harder against him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this hard. He was going to come in about three seconds flat, just from watching Dean’s face. Just from hearing him breathe out Sam’s name.   
  
“Do you want me to stop?” Sam asked, dipping his head and whispering against Dean’s ear. Fingers twisted in his hair and then he was being yanked closer, his mouth against Dean’s as Dean answered, “You stop and I’ll fucking kill you.”  
  
They kissed, messy and hard. Sam was half-laughing, his lips curved against Dean’s mouth, but then Dean twisted his leg. Shoved his thigh up - right _there_ \- right against Sam and the laughter died out pretty fucking fast.  
  
“God,” Sam panted. His hair was falling in his eyes. He dropped his head, kissed the side of Dean’s face. His jaw, his cheek, his ear. Dean’s jeans were loose at the waist and all Sam had to do was move his hand just a little, just to the top, and he was able to shove his hand right down the front of Dean’s jeans, into his boxers and around his dick.   
  
Dean nearly lifted off the floor. “Holy _fuck_.” He dug his heels into the ground, knees falling open wide. “Sam, yeah. God. Just like – god. _Fuck_.”   
  
Sam dragged his teeth along the line of Dean’s jaw, and he turned his head and kissed him, wet and dirty. “Come on, Dean,” Sam said against his mouth. Dean hissed between his teeth. “Come on. Fucking do this,” Sam murmured. “Come on.”  
  
He could feel Dean getting harder. Sam tightened his fingers, moved his hand faster. Dean’s skin was flushed and Sam touched his mouth to the sweat clinging to his brother’s temple. Ran his thumb over the head of his cock and twisted his wrist. Dean shoved up into his fist, and when he came his head hit back into the floor so hard Sam was worried he might have knocked himself out.   
  
“Dean, god. You okay?” He yanked his hand from Dean’s jeans and wiped his fingers on the bedspread.   
  
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just.” Dean reached up and grabbed Sam by the hair. Pulled him down and whispered, “Come on, Sammy,” against his ear as he shoved his thigh up again and palmed Sam’s dick with his other hand. “What are you waiting for, you pussy?”  
  
It was the lamest thing ever. Sam blinked his eyes. Looked at Dean watching him, his face still flushed and pink from his own orgasm, and that was it. He bit his lip and came right there, in his jeans, without Dean even touching him.   
  
Sam laughed at himself after a minute. He couldn’t help it. He dropped his head against Dean's shoulder and just laughed and laughed.   
  
“Dude,” Dean said, running a hand through the back of Sam's hair. “That was really weak.”  
  
“Fuck you,” he mumbled into Dean's shirt.   
  
Dean murmured something back, Sam couldn’t even really hear him, and after a minute he pushed up and rolled over so he was lying next to Dean on the floor, half of his body under the bed.   
  
“So.” Dean cleared his throat. “Was that payback for the beer? Because I gotta tell you, Sammy. If it was you kinda win.” Sam elbowed him in the ribs and Dean laughed. “No, really. I mean. I guess I could blow you next, if this is the way we're going, but.”   
  
“God. I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I.” Sam put an arm up and covered his eyes.  
  
Dean laughed quietly. “Not for a really fucking long time, bro, I have to be honest.”  
  
Sam left his arm where it was and nodded. “That's fair.” He waited a minute before sucking it up and looking over at Dean. He was leaning propped up on an elbow, watching Sam with a curious expression, his hair all messed up and his skin still pink. “We okay?” Sam asked. Because there were a lot of things in the world he could deal with, but things being weird between him and Dean wasn't really one of them.   
  
Dean looked down for a second and Sam held his breath, but when he looked back up he was smiling. “I think we're always okay, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled back and blew the hair from his eyes. “Good. That's - that's good.”  
  
“Yeah. Okay. And now,” Dean kicked Sam’s shin and stood up, yanking his shirt over his head. “Now I'm taking a shower. You can lay there or you can get up or you can jerk off or whatever you want to do. It's your call.” He tossed his shirt on the floor and closed the bathroom door behind him.   
  
“Dude. Don't use all the hot water,” Sam called. He could already hear Dean laughing. “And don’t fuck with my shampoo!” he added. Dean just laughed harder.   
  
Sam got up and purposely stepped on Dean's shirt as he walked past it. He listened to Dean singing _Livin’ Lovin’ Woman_ in the shower and thought about sneaking in the bathroom to turn on the faucets or flush the toilet or something, but decided that maybe it was time for that truce he tried to call earlier. Maybe this time it would actually _work_.   
  
He found Dean's jeans on the floor though, and before he tossed them on the bed he dug around in the pockets until he found his tube of glue and stole it back.   
  
Sam smiled as he stuck it in his own pocket. Because a truce was one thing. Being unprepared though, that was just stupid.   
  
  
  
-end-


End file.
